Joseph Simon and D. P. Thompson, it seems, for mayor, June 20 (almost six months before). Finally, the city council canvassed the vote, recounted it in committee of the whole, decided the vote was a tie, and concluded to let the incumbent Thompson hold over for three years. Simon went to court. Judge Scott ruled that the state courts had no jurisdiction and that the action of the council was final. "That," the columnist went on to say, "confirms Thompson's position and establishes beyond doubt his title to the mayoralty for the next three years. The justice of this decision is so evident to all familiar with the detail of the matter that it seems useless to argue it. No one except a very few smarting and unreasonable, under defeat, has ever questioned this result."
On the church side of things the columnist was equally frank and positive. "In this age," he said, "salvation is not free. . . . Let me suggest on behalf of the very large number of impecunious men about town that the contribution plate be passed morning and evening by the same man, and let me mildly hint that he look not upon the coins which the people drop in, with an eye to their size and value."
Oh, yes, and it seems that the columnist had his own ideas about matters theatrical too, and music.
"On Tuesday night," he said, "the beautiful Miss Lingard and her poor company departed. I am glad the company has gone. I wish that the local orchestra which played during the season had gone. I hope that Mr. Norris will never come again. I hope Mrs. Belle Douglas will never come again. I hope that when Miss Lingard next comes she will have a support worthy of her beauty and talents."
The columnist was bored, too, with society. And he said:
Portland society is monotonous. People go to a party at eight or nine o'clock, dance till eleven, take supper and dance again and keep on dancing till about two hours past the proper time to go home. There is no variation in the entertainment—dancing, supper, and a little gossip along the walls. . . .
But the evening tea is the source of much sorrow. The company must be limited to the capacity of the hostess' dining-room, and as dining-rooms are often small, the invitations must be few. Then doth the heart of the forgotten girl burn, and then doth the iron sink deep into the soul of the slighted society young man. . . . If any lady wants to stir up bitterness in the hearts of her unreasoning friends, and cause them to dislike her for all time, to come, let her give an evening tea. . . .
On the fifth column of the page there was a survey of the qualifications needed for chief engineer of the Portland fire department;
